


Practical Solutions

by Vanyel



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Drinking, Engineer has problems, Respawn Chips, Suicide, fatshaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 07:12:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6792769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanyel/pseuds/Vanyel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Engineer finds a problem that's a little harder to deal with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practical Solutions

Engineer sat on the edge of the roof, looking across the dark, dusty world with a sigh. He raised the beer in his hand to his lips, and was not overly surprised to find it empty. Cursing softly, Engineer threw the bottle out onto the battlefield, watching it shatter on the ground and join the scattered pieces of the half-dozen others before it. He reached back to pop open another one.  
Not a damned thing ever changed, did it?

The Engineer had always been short, but he’d never been a small man. The mass of baby fat everyone else seemed to lose had never gone away, growing with him into a paunch and rolls. Mama’d said he was “big-boned”, Papa’d said he’d turn it into muscle someday. His big Sis had seen it a different way, calling him Squishy all the time, and the kids at school all seemed to be on her side. “Tubby” and “Lardass” chased him all the way through high school. Gym days were a special ritual of torture, everyone laughing at the round little man trying and failing to keep up. Breath short, stubby legs struggling, vision blurring, he’d swear to himself. One day, he’d be big and strong, and smarter than them all, too. He’d build a bunch of really cool things, and people wouldn’t call him fat anymore.

He threw back the beer, coughing slightly as it burned his throat. How naive he’d been. It never stopped.  
“Hey hardhat, lay off the beans, will ya? I’m surprised you can fit through the door anymore!”   
“Herr Engineer, I would have to say that while you seem to be in perfect physical health, your weight is quite unacceptable.”   
“MAGGOT! HOW DARE YOU SIT AROUND AND RELAX WHEN I CAN SEE THE BREEZE SHAKE YOUR OVERSIZED STOMACH?”  
It seems like he was the only one who ever got teased about his weight. Even the Heavy had made cracks at him, and the Heavy was over 300 pounds! Engineer had asked the Scout, his most frequent tormentor, why they didn’t bug the Heavy, and the reply was simple. “Because, ya know, he’s a big guy overall, he’s allowed to have all dat meat on him. But you, you’re tiny, an’ you’re still a fatass!” Scout’s grin had been like a knife in the back.  
55 years, 11 PhDs, an endless number of impossible inventions, merciless killer, and he’d never stopped being just Chubby Conagher.  
The beer was empty all too soon, and Engineer threw it once more. The crash of it on the ground wasn’t as satisfying anymore, and he just leaned his head back, letting the cool breeze blow over him, one hand resting on his belly. He tried to remember; where was it exactly?  
They were right. He was just a stupid fat old man.  
But not for much longer.

The knocks on the bedroom door turn into a harsh pounding. “ENGINEER OPEN THIS DOOR BEFORE WE BREAK IT DOWN! YOU ARE GOING TO BE LATE FOR THE BATTLE!”   
No response.   
“WE WILL BREAK IT DOWN DO NOT THINK WE WILL NOT!”   
Still nothing.  
The door broke inwards, snapped off its hinges by the combined might of Heavy and Soldier rushing it at once. “I TOLD YOU WE WOULD BREAK-” He trailed off suddenly.  
Scout pushed past the frozen Soldier, whining, “What’s going on, I wanna see what’s happ-”  
Everything stopped.   
The open door let in a sudden breeze, which blew the small piece of paper from between the gloved fingers, twirling it across the room before it fell right into Scout’s outstretched hand. He looked down at it, eyes wide, then turned to show it to the rest of the team. There were in and bloodstains all over, but a few words could still be read.  
[You’re all right. I’m just...fat.............useless...Don’t worry, I found it, so....won’t.......your space anymore.]  
All eyes turned back to the Engineer, the team slowly approaching him almost mechanically. Lying on the floor next to the limp hand hanging off the edge of the bed, sitting in a pool of blood, was a small microchip with some letters engraved. They didn’t need to see it any clearer to know what they were.  
RED. ENG. RSPN.


End file.
